


The Haunting

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: the Haunting
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, Language, Mild Language, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 11:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15290820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: After losing a bet with Natasha, Steve convinces you to spend one night in a haunted house.





	The Haunting

“It’s only one night,” Steve, your boyfriend of three years, tried assuring you, his hands on your shoulders, fingers squeezing gently.

“One night,” you confirmed dryly. “In a haunted house. No way.”

Steve was rolling his eyes. “You don’t  _actually_  believe in ghosts, do you?”

“What? No way,” you scoffed, hoping he couldn’t see through the lie.

When all he did was arch his brow, you gave a growl. “Oh, alright. Yes, I believe in ghosts.”

Steve started laughing, his head thrown back, the hearty sound grating on you. “Oh, my God, I thought you were kidding this entire time!”

WIth your eyes narrowed, you reached out and punched him in his very hard shoulder. “Shut up.”

“It won’t be bad,” he vowed, laughter still coloring his words.

“You don’t know that,” you argued, your finger aimed at his chest. “Something bad could happen to us.”

“There is only one way anything bad will happen to us if we don’t do this.”

“Oh?” you sassed. “And what, good sir, would that be?”

Steve checked over both of his shoulders before leaning close and whispering, “Natasha will never let us live it down.”

He was right. While Natasha was an amazing friend, she was also competitive to a fault. You loved her, that one flaw and all, but damn, the temptation to have one over on her was too strong.

“Okay,” you conceded. “One night.”

You were going to throttle Steve if he didn’t knock it off. He had adopted a bastardized English accent and had started quoting Shakespeare for no reason.

 **”These violent delights have violent ends,”**  he carried on, waving a hand through the air as the pair of you walked slowly through the house, a flashlight in his hand. “And in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness -”

“Could you, oh, I don’t know, stop?” you snapped

Chuckling, Steve spun around to face you. “Here comes the lady. Oh, so light a foot, will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. A lover may bestride the gossamers, that idles in the wanton summer air, and yet not fall. So light is vanity.”

Your shoulders were shaking as you giggled. “Good even to my ghostly confessor.”

Steve pumped his fist excitedly. “I  _knew_  I could get you to join in.”

“You’re a fucking nerd,” you observed.

“And you love it,” Steve said with a wink, spinning back around to continue the journey.

Steve’s hand shot out for yours, his fingers wiggling back and forth. “Come, come with me, and we will make short work.” Shaking your head in amusement, you slid your hand into his and held your breath as the pair of you rounded a corner.

You didn’t like being there, in the middle of the night, spiderwebs and dust covering every surface, the air thick and stale. It was unsettling and every part of you itched to run away, and it was almost getting to be too much. Not even the comforting weight of Steve’s hand around yours seemed to settle your nerves.

“Calm down,” Steve huffed. “You’re giving  _me_  anxiety.”

“I told you I didn’t want to be here.” You were whining and you knew it, but that didn’t stop you. “Can we just go? We’ve been through the house three times already.”

He kept right on walking, pulling you with him. “And we’ll go through it another three times, or seven. As long as we’re in here until dawn.”

Cold air blew across the back of your neck, spreading goosebumps on your skin like wildfire. “Steve, what was that?”

“There’s nothing there, Y/N,” he huffed irritatedly.

“Bu- but there is,” you stammered. “It’s so co- cold.”

Steve turned around, his brow arched, his eyes flashing, hell bent on telling you to calm the hell down, but he didn’t make it that far. His eyes went wide and the color drained from his face.

“What is it, Steve?” you asked, your voice thick and scared.

“A gu- gu- ghost,” he sputtered. Your hand fell from his as he raised it to point over your shoulder.

Swallowing around the knot in your throat, you shook your head. “No, it can’t be.”

Without taking his eyes off of the apparition, Steve grabbed your shoulders and turned you around. You yelped in surprise, your hands covering your mouth, your back slamming into Steve’s chest.

“I told you,” he announced in a harsh whisper. “What do we do?”

“There’s only one thing we can do,” you assured him. “RUN!”

When something touched the back of his neck, Steve let loose a shout that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He hauled ass down the hall, the staircase, and through the entry room, slamming the front door behind him.

You were bent over at the waist and cackling as Natasha emerged from the dark corner. “Tell me you got that.”

She held the phone out for you to see the video she had just taken. “Every glorious second.”

“Oh, my God,” you rasped, your throat aching from the peals of laughter coming out of you. “That was amazing. How did you manage to pull it off?”

Shuri, a college senior at sixteen years old, stepped out from her hiding place, a small device in her hand that projected the ‘ghost’ into the air. “My own design.” She was grinning, beaming with pride. “Tell me, why did we just scare that man?”

“Steve needed a taste of his own medicine,” Natasha replied, a red brow arched and her arms crossed.

“He’s a giant prankster,” you added. “It was time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Speaking of which,” Nat hummed. She reached over and messed up your hair by raking her hands through it, adding dust bunnies to the messy strands and the back of your clothes. “You better get going if you want to finish this.”

You struck a pose for the camera. “How do I look?”

“Positively frightening,” Shuri laughed.

Once Natasha had taken your picture and started recording once again, you cleared your throat and gave a high-pitched scream that made your throat ache. You tore off as if the devil himself was chasing you, not stopping until you were down the block with Steve close behind.


End file.
